The lad glanced at me, but didn’t seem to reckon _my_ interference as worth anything. Then he glanced at Sylvie: _she_ clearly didn’t count for very much, either. Then he took courage. “It’ll take a better man than any of _yer_ to get ’em!” he retorted defiantly. [Illustration: A ROYAL THIEF-TAKER] Sylvie stooped and patted the invisible Nero. “A _little_ tighter!” she whispered. And a sharp yell from the ragged boy showed how promptly the Dog-King had taken the hint. “What’s the matter _now_?” I said. “Is your ankle worse?” “And it’ll get worse, and worse, and worse,” Bruno solemnly assured him, “till oo gives up those apples!” Apparently the thief was convinced of this at last, and he sulkily began emptying his pockets of the apples. The children watched from a little distance, Bruno dancing with delight at every fresh yell extracted from Nero’s terrified prisoner. “That’s all,” the boy said at last. “It _isn’t_ all!” cried Bruno. “There’s three more in that pocket!” Another hint from Sylvie to the Dog-King—another sharp yell from the thief, now convicted of lying also—and the remaining three apples were surrendered. “Let him go, please,” Sylvie said in Doggee, and the lad limped away at a great pace, stooping now and then to rub the ailing ankle, in fear, seemingly, that the ‘crahmp’ might attack it again. [Illustration: ‘SUMMAT WRONG WI’ MY SPECTACLES!’] Bruno ran back, with his booty, to the orchard wall, and pitched the apples over it one by one. “I’s welly afraid _some_ of them’s gone under the wrong trees!” he panted, on overtaking us again. “The _wrong_ trees!” laughed Sylvie. “Trees _ca’n’t_ do wrong! There’s no such things as _wrong_ trees!” “Then there’s no such things as _right_ trees, neither!” cried Bruno. And Sylvie gave up the point. “Wait a minute, please!” she said to me. “I must make Nero _visible_, you know!” “No, _please_ don’t!” cried Bruno, who had by this time mounted on the Royal back, and was twisting the Royal hair into a bridle. “It’ll be _such_ fun to have him like this!” “Well, it _does_ look funny,” Sylvie admitted, and led the way to the farm-house, where the farmer’s wife stood, evidently much perplexed at the weird procession now approaching her. “It’s summat gone wrong wi’ my spectacles, I doubt!” she murmured, as she took them off, and began diligently rubbing them with a corner of her apron. Meanwhile Sylvie had hastily pulled Bruno down from his steed, and had just time to make His Majesty wholly visible before the spectacles were resumed. All was natural, now; but the good woman still looked a little uneasy about it. “My eyesight’s getting bad,” she said, “but I see you _now_, my darlings! You’ll give me a kiss, wo’n’t you?” Bruno got behind me, in a moment: however Sylvie put up _her_ face, to be kissed, as representative of _both_, and we all went in together. CHAPTER V. MATILDA JANE.